Chapter 2 - The Gilded CageThe black SUV sped through the streets of Manhattan,
the neon lights blurring into streaks of red and gold against the window.
I sat in the back seat,
sandwiched between two men who smelled of expensive cologne and gunpowder.
My mind was a whirlwind of terror,
wondering if I had saved Dominic Russo only to be killed by him later.
We arrived at a massive estate in Westchester,
hidden behind iron gates and guarded by men with high-powered rifles.
The house was a fortress of marble and glass,
shining under the moonlight like a monument to stolen wealth.
Leo led me inside,
up a grand staircase,
and into a library lined with thousands of leather-bound books.
"Sit,"
he said,
pointing to a velvet chair that looked more expensive than my father's entire house.
I sat,
clasping my hands to hide their shaking,
waiting for the master of the house to arrive.
An hour passed,
each tick of the grandfather clock sounding like a gunshot in the silence.
Then,
the heavy oak doors swung open,
and Dominic walked in,
having changed into a black silk shirt that made him look even more dangerous.
He poured two glasses of water,
not scotch,
and handed one to me.
"Drink,"
he said,
his voice losing some of its gravelly edge.
"It isn't poisoned."
I took a sip,
the cool water soothing my parched throat.
"Who is your father?"
he asked,
sitting across from me and leaning forward.
"Arthur Miller,"
I replied,
"he owed the Castellanos one hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Dominic let out a short, dark laugh,
a sound that held no humor.
"Arthur Miller was a fool,"
he said,
"but he was a talented accountant before he became a gambler."
"He vanished six months ago,"
I added,
feeling a tear prick at the corner of my eye.
"He left me to pay for his sins."
Dominic watched me closely,
his gaze traveling from my messy hair down to my cheap work shoes.
"The Castellanos are my enemies,"
he stated,
"and tonight, they tried to use my own staff to erase me."
"You saved my life, Elara."
It was the first time he had used my name,
and the way it rolled off his tongue made my skin tingle.
"I did it because it was right,"
I said defiantly,
trying to find a spark of courage.
"Nothing in this world is 'right',"
he countered,
standing up and walking toward the window.
"There is only power, and those who are crushed by it."
"You are currently being crushed."
He turned back to me,
his silhouette framed by the moonlight.
"I will pay your debt,"
he declared,
and for a second, I felt a weight lift off my chest.
"But,"
he continued,
shattering my hope,
"you now belong to me until I decide otherwise."
"You will live here,"
"you will eat here,"
"and you will tell me everything you know about the Castellano's movements at the Onyx Room."
May you like
I was no longer a debtor to the mob,
I was a prisoner of the King.
